Shape the Invisible
by Sarcasmo
Summary: Songfic, Snape's thoughts on Harry Potter.


None of the characters etc belong to me yada yada, don't sue me, all I own is debts. Italics indicate song lyrics, all lyrics are from Martin Page - Shape The Invisible. They are out of order because they fit my story better this way *grins* let's hear it for artistic license. In case you couldn't tell, this is from Snape's point of view. I'm not sure exactly what it is, mental exercises for my muse I guess. It just came to me while I was listening to the song. I know Snape is a little *cough* ooc, but it's in his mind, and I reckon he isn't heartless bastard to the core. 

***

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Just another day, love seems so far away.

There's no sign of life in Eden's garden.

I hate myself, hate what I am. Deatheater. Murderer. I have killed, more times than I care to remember. Not that I can forget, ever. Each one haunts me, blood stains my hands, murder stains my soul, paints it black. For one such as myself, there can never be absolution.

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Concrete stained, blood and rain, I'm ashamed.

Not that I don't try. I realised my mistake early on. Disillusioned and ashamed, I looked for an escape in death, but it was not to be, I would not be let off that lightly. I was given the chance to turn traitor to the ones who made me what I am, to work against the evil to which I swore my life and gave up my soul. I can never atone for my sins, they are too great and too many, but I can try, and maybe I can help some escape my fate.

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Just another day, walking in the steps of Cain.

Still I kill, and I am forced to wear more masks than the one marking me as a deatheater, sometimes I fear that I shall get lost under them all, forget who I am. Once I thought I would never be free, that I would be marked forever. Then a child was born, a Potter. But one who may prove to be the salvation of all, including myself. 

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Somewhere a small boy is playing with his toys,

Someday his innocence will shape the invisible.

Potter, I pity him sometimes. I know he will never have a normal life. Fame can be fickle; he will learn that soon enough, if he hasn't already. Those who love and revere him today will fear and despise him tomorrow. For he has power, and people hate that. But I will place what little hope I have left, in him. For I believe that he can defeat Voldemort. Not that he should have to. You would think that all the wizards in the country could deal with one deranged fool and his handful of no less deranged and even more foolish followers but no. We will hand the task to a child. Ask of him what we will not ask of ourselves. And yet we call ourselves the side of the light? Sometimes I wonder. 

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Under poisoned skies, the children wonder why,

Our fathers can't shape the invisible.

He hates me of course. I have made sure of that, it would be far too unsafe for both of us otherwise. I must wear these masks of mine a little longer. He must loathe me. I may be cruel to him, but I am cruellest to myself. I deserve it. 

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There's a broken man, praying for a wounded land.

Oh, why can't we shape the invisible?

Voldemort is still trying to kill him; they have gone head to head many times now. I hate to see the look in the boy's eyes when he returns from one of those bouts. No one that age should have that look. No one that age should have been through the things he has, seen the things he has seen. One of them will die before this ends. 

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And the dealer won't rest, 'til he sells a child death.

I worry about him. Strange though that sounds, he is in as much danger as me of losing himself. I can see it happening; sometimes I wonder if I am the only one that can see past his scar to the frightened child behind it. They do not see that revering him the way they do will only force him to hide himself more. I wonder if he knows that no matter how many people will want to shake his hand on the way up, on the path to glory, there will be none to catch him when he falls. 

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For faith that's blind, the voice of reason cries.

Oh, why can't we shape the invisible?

And he will fall. Every time he fights Voldemort, a part of him dies. That is one of the things you can see in his eyes. I fear that even if he defeats Voldemort, he will still be lost. I am amazed he hasn't broken yet, and I wonder how many more times he will be able to fight Voldemort before he does...

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Behind my door, fear is keeping score.

Oh, why can't we shape the invisible?

I hope it is more times than he will actually have to fight. I wish there were more I could do. I wish this war was over, it is too painful. Wizard against wizard, friends betraying friends, traitors and spies. The losses are counted in more than just blood.

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Just another day, brotherhood won't show his face, in the neighbourhood.

Drive by shots, Time stops, doors are locked.

Not that I would ever admit it. I am the evil, uncaring potions master. Most hated teacher at Hogwarts, villain, traitor and greasy bastard. I don't care and I certainly don't feel. Sometimes I wish I really didn't. I will do nothing to dispel this image; I have spent years perfecting it. I need solitude. I deserve no friends and would not wish the associated danger on anyone. I will hide in the dungeons, in the dark, alone, until this is over. 

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Lightning strikes, chemical lights, burn my eyes.

But I will also watch over Potter. I have saved him before and my heart tells me that I will have to again. I will not let Lily's sacrifice be in vain. Potter will survive. I will make sure of that. He is growing up; he is not the boy he once was. He is now a powerful wizard and a formidable opponent to Voldemort. He has given me hope, both for the wizarding world and, for the first time, for myself. I believe he will win. And though I said there will be no one to catch him if he falls, I lied. I will be there. Even though he hates me, I will not allow him to die, and I can not allow him to fall. 

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A mother's son is now a soldier marching on,

He's been told to shape the invisible.


End file.
